Reify
by Niente Zero
Summary: In the dark, getting real. An ambush leaves Ray injured and helpless. Fraser finds that you need more than rope if you look into the abyss.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination_

_Warnings: Bad language in two tongues, mildly non-linear narrative, men talking about emotions, ambiguous ending (but remember, Fraser is a man of his word.)_

**Reify**

**tr.v. re·i·fied, re·i·fy·ing, re·i·fies**

**To regard or treat (an abstraction) as if it had concrete or material existence.**

**The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition.**

---

Ray's leg was broken. That, in itself, was not an insurmountable problem. Constable Benton Fraser was more than capable of acting as a human crutch for his new partner, or, if necessary, hauling Ray Kowalski to safety in a fireman's carry.

The leg, as bad as it was, and as much pain as it must be causing the detective, was really not the crux of the issue. In the dim glow of a flashlight, Fraser stared with an expression that bordered on frustration at the smooth, ladderless wall of the industrial sized tank in which he and Ray were currently stashed. Unless he could come up with a way to walk up a wall, he and Ray were looking at foreshortened futures. And, although so far the new Ray hadn't launched into the sort of recriminations Fraser would have expected from the old Ray (although time would surely tell), it was almost definitely mostly Fraser's fault that they were trapped there.

Ray shifted uneasily. His leg hurt like hell any time he moved, or any time he stayed still too long, or any time he forgot to try really hard not to think about it hurting. He wanted to bitch about how it was thanks to Fraser that they were in this mess, but the Mountie looked as emotional as Ray had seen him. Which wasn't very emotional, although Ray was calibrating off the look of mild surprise that had concealed shock and pain upon learning that his partner had gone undercover without bothering to let Fraser know. Which calibration allowed Ray to guess that his repressed new friend was currently doing enough of a job of kicking his own ass without Ray joining in the melee.

Ray rubbed his head. It ached, mildly. Nothing to compare to the leg. He would have been home on the couch watching the game by now, if a certain someone in a jaunty red uniform hadn't been so much of a boy scout.

The events of the evening were a combination of the two worst traits that Lieutenant Welsh had warned Ray of when briefing him about his new partner late one night while Fraser was still on vacation.

---

"The thing of it is, for Vecchio's cover, the Mountie's still got to be out there liaising with the CPD, and making the streets safe for little old ladies to cross." Welsh had said, handing over a stack of files containing reports from the cases Fraser had worked on with the original Ray Vecchio.

"So what, this is babysitting duty?" Ray retorted with displeasure.

Welsh had sighed and looked like he was suffering from a near fatal attack of gas. "Read the reports. Big Red sets out to lend a helping hand to the less fortunate, half the time he ends up with the mob or a Federal agency breathing down his neck. It's uncanny, Detective."

"One thing I don't get, is why you didn't get another Italian." Ray had queried. It bothered him. It seemed like a fairly significant detail to be overlooked.

Welsh stood up and closed the door to his office. "Listen to me carefully. And if this gets out, I'll bust you down to foot patrol. You'll be writing tickets the rest of your career."

Ray held steady under Welsh's glare and waited for him to continue.

"The Canadians are doing us a favor, keeping Constable Fraser out there on the street, visible. Vecchio's cover depends on it. But between the uniform and, well, a certain force of personality, our Constable Fraser tends to attract all the attention. I asked for you on this one, Kowalski. I don't like that I gotta send a guy out without his partner, and without much choice about the deal. It doesn't matter if you don't look Italian, it does matter to me that the Constable has someone I can trust watching his back."

Welsh tapped his finger against his nose, reinforcing his stated requirement of secrecy, and added, "Read the reports." before opening his office door and shooing Ray out into the night.

Ray had read them, and not entirely believed them, until the day he met Fraser and watched the man run back into a burning building to save some goldfish. And incidentally, Ray had taken a bullet for Fraser later the same day. So tonight wasn't really that much of a shock.

---

The Italian thing came up, of course, earlier during tonight's fiasco.

"He doesn't look Italian. They said the Mountie's partner was Italian."

This from a tall Chinese-looking guy who was manhandling Ray into the back of the van that had brought them to the storage facility where they were now imprisoned. Ray had just known it was a bad idea to stop when flagged down by a motorist allegedly in distress, in a dark alley, not too far from the Consulate. He'd been driving Fraser home.

Fraser had insisted they pull over, of course. That the driver of the broken down vehicle had been a small woman with a baby balanced on her hip had swung things in Fraser's favor. Of course, they'd no sooner got out of the car, leaving Diefenbaker safely locked in, than the van had pulled across the entrance of the alley, trapping them as armed men spilled from it. An ambush.

A second Chinese thug said, "How can you tell? They all look the same to me."

"Yeah, but..." the first one twisted Ray's arm up behind his back and shoved him onto the bare metal floor of the van. "He just doesn't look Italian."

Ray went undercover prepared. "Ma vattelo a pigliare nel culo, testa di cazzo! Tua madre è una puttana!" he spat at the thug in rapid fire Italian.

Neither Chinese man appeared to understand the content of the words, although the intent was clear. Fraser, however, who was lying prone on the floor of the van in the process of having his hands and ankles tied, took the time to twist his head around and offer a shocked, "Ray!"

Ray grinned. There was no way to fight the heavily armed men who were shanghaiing them. It felt good to let loose the string of extremely specific invective, even if it did horrify the straight-laced Mountie.

As the van pulled away from the alley with Fraser and Kowalski lying on the floor, bound hand and foot, Ray rolled so he was lying face to face with Fraser.

"That's the last time we stop for a stranded lady with a baby." he said, with a look of amused resignation. If they were lucky enough to get out of this situation, he had no doubt at all that they'd be stopping for anything remotely approaching an emergency that caught the Mountie's eye.

"No talking!" Thug number one said, landing two hard, swift kicks to Ray's midsection. With his hands tied behind him, Ray could do nothing but groan and roll his eyes. Fraser's brow developed an unhappy wrinkle at his partner's mistreatment.

Without being able to look at their watches, both men were only able to surmise that the van had driven for approximately an hour, long enough to take them to a far distant Chicago suburb, or even over into Indiana. When the van pulled to a halt, and the back doors were open, Ray and Fraser discovered that they had been driven inside a warehouse, giving neither of them a clue as to their location.

"Out!" a voice snapped, from outside the van. The two thugs obligingly hauled Ray and Fraser out and to their feet. Their captor proved to be a slim young Chinese man in a very sharp suit. His features looked vaguely familiar to Fraser.

"So, Constable Fraser. You and your partner are the ones who brought disgrace and dishonor on my family." the man said.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage." Fraser replied politely. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"We have not, but you have met my cousin, Charlie." the man said crisply. "You caused him trouble, and thus, caused my family a setback. I have recently arrived from Hong Kong to rectify matters. You and your partner are a loose end that I will see tidied away."

He spoke with such a dispassionate chill that Ray's blood ran cold. He turned slightly toward Fraser. Obviously the name Charlie should mean something - Fraser clearly recognized it, and Ray scoured his memory. China. Charlie. How did it go together? Oh. The kidnapping case that had pissed off the FBI. Charlie Wong. Chinese crime lord. Bad enemy to make. So, by all reports, typical Fraser.

The unknown cousin of Charlie Wong looked at his watch. "Unfortunately, I have business to attend to before I can spend any time with you gentlemen. You will wait here. I will return to deal with you at my leisure." He nodded at the two men who'd been in the back of the van with Ray and Fraser. One took Ray by the shoulder and the other manhandled Fraser, pushing them both backwards into the open storage tank that lay behind them.

Fraser rolled. It was an uncomfortable landing, hard and bruising, but rolling with it athletically prevented anything more serious than a breathtaking, bone-jarring thump.

Ray wasn't so lucky. He didn't scream when his left leg buckled under his ungainly landing. The hands behind his back prevented him from bracing himself as he went down hard. He did let out a strangled "oof!", followed by a long, drawn in breath, and then an ominous silence.

By the time that Fraser and Ray had recovered their breath enough to talk, they heard the van pull away. They were now alone in the dark of the warehouse. Until their eyes adjusted, the bottom of the storage tank was an inky black.

"Stay where you are and I'll make my way to you." Fraser said, a slight wheeze the only evidence that he was affected by the fall.

"Benton buddy, I'm not going anywhere." Ray said. His voice was taut with pain, a low, tightly controlled whisper.

"Oh."

Fraser's voice was much closer, and Ray startled.

"I want to get these ropes off." Fraser said. "If you turn your back to me-" he sounded suddenly uncertain. "If you can move."

"Mmphm." Ray grunted. He swung himself around so that he was leaning sideways against the wall of the tank. He soon felt the touch of Fraser's hands brushing against his wrists, then the sure fingers working loose the knots that bound him.

"That's better." Ray said, flexing his hands in front of him and rolling his shoulders. It didn't take away the throbbing pain from his leg, but still. There was something unnerving about being tied up. "Your turn."

It was even easier for Ray to untie Fraser, seeing as he didn't have to do it with his hands behind his back. Fraser scooted around in front of Ray and Ray had him unbound in short order. When Fraser's wrists were free, he untied his own ankles, and then leaned down to untie Ray's.

"AAAAaaah!"

It was the first loud expression of pain that Ray had let out since falling. It was followed by a much more subdued string of Polish expletives under his breath.

"Your leg." Fraser said.

"Yeah. Uh. Broken, I think." Ray said.

Fraser fumbled in his belt for the miniature flashlight he kept tucked in one of the pouches. The thin beam of light illuminated a very definite break. Fraser tutted, not being adept at comforting words, but his next attempt to untie Ray's ankles was much gentler and more careful.

---

After a long, pensive examination of their surroundings using the small flashlight, Fraser suddenly said, "That's it!"

"What's it?" Ray asked.

"The ropes. There's a sort of a metal pole at the top edge of the tank. If I just...."

He began busily un-plying the ropes that had held he and Ray, making a pile of narrower rope fragments on the floor. The lengths of rope at their original thickness were not nearly enough to reach the top of the tank, but he had an inkling that he could fix that.

"What are you doing?" Ray asked. In the beam of light from the flashlight, now lying on the floor, he could see Fraser's hands moving nimbly, the Mountie crouched over his task with an expression of concentration on his face.

"Well, Ray, I learned how to splice together ropes when I was a boy scout." Fraser explained, his tone calm and pedantic. "I've split the ropes into their separate plies, and now I'm making a longer rope by splicing them, so that I can lasso it over the pole up there, climb out of here, and summon aid for you."

Ray snorted. "Like that rope's going to hold your weight." he said. It would be better if he were mobile. Not that he was any good with the rope climbing in gym class, but he was considerably lighter than the broad-shouldered Mountie.

"It'll have to." Fraser said in a tone that brooked no argument. It carried the confidence of a man who had been in many tight squeezes and somehow cheated death in each of them.

"Hold this." Fraser said, handing the flashlight to Ray. "I'll need you to point it at the rope so I can see where I'm climbing."

Fraser tied a noose at one end of the rope and slung it up, high over the post at the top of the tank. The rope dangled at his finger tips, and it took a running start to grab it and begin to climb the wall of the tank.

The rope didn't hold his weight.

As the impossible fact of failure hit Fraser, he braced to land as well as he could, tucking his chin down toward his chest and spreading his arms so that his forearms hit the ground flat, sparing his wrists from the impact. Nevertheless, the force of the landing snapped his neck backward in a whiplash motion, his head hitting the floor of the tank with an audible thud.

The fall was too fast for Ray to see anything but a strobe of Fraser falling across the flashlight's beam. He turned the light onto the floor of the tank and saw Fraser lying there, looking dazed.

Ray crawled across to him, ignoring the screaming agony engendered by moving the unset bone in his rapidly swelling leg, and felt for a pulse. It was strong and steady, and Ray breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Aw, crap, come on Frase. How can I tell you I told you so, if you're out cold?" he chided his new partner gently, as he shone the flashlight into Fraser's dazed face.

Fraser blinked and sat up so suddenly that Ray had to swing the flashlight out of the way.

"I'm fine, Ray." he said. "However-"

"We're still stuck down here, and the Hail Mary pass didn't come through for you." Ray said.

Fraser was momentarily stunned speechless.

"Indeed." he said at last. "I am sure that we'll find a way out, but for the moment, perhaps it would be a good idea to conserve our energy. And the flashlight battery." he added, ruefully.

"Yeah." Ray said. "And, I told you so."

"Mmph." Fraser replied. "Er. I'm afraid we have nothing with which to splint your leg, but if there's anything else we could do to make you more comfortable..."

"Nah, Frase. I'm just going to crawl back over to the wall. Good leaning spot. Just stay close, I don't want you falling over in the dark or anything else."

"All right, Ray." Fraser said. He was uncomfortably aware that he was failing his partner. Something would come up. Something always did come up. Usually because he made his own luck, figured his own way out of a predicament. But they really were short on resources, and Ray Kowalski seemed irked with him.

---

The night got cold.

---

The two men in the tank were silent for a long time. Fraser was tongue-tied. So far, in the few weeks that he'd known this new Ray, the detective had seemed alternately amused and exasperated by Fraser's ability to make conversation about every topic under the sun. In the dark, unable to see Ray Kowalski's expressive eyes, Fraser found that he didn't want to exasperate the man who was already at the short end of his fuse.

Ray was just clenching his jaw, his hand opening and closing around the fabric of his jeans. What was there to say when all that would come out would be a pained whine? He knew he should say something to Fraser, something about how his ankle was swelling, how even if they couldn't splint his leg, he needed his jeans cut open, his boot and sock taken off. But he couldn't say it without the sob that was at the back of his throat escaping. And he couldn't eat his pride after he'd prodded the Mountie about his failure, perhaps pushed too far, past the bounds of their newly forming friendship.

When the cold got to Ray enough that he shivered the sob escaped anyway.

Immediately, Fraser flicked the flashlight on.

"Ray!" he said, sweeping the flashlight over Ray's ashen face and down to his leg. "Your ankle. I should have thought - let me."

His hands, again gentle and sure, unlaced Ray's boot. It was sturdy black leather, and hard to remove from the badly swollen ankle. At the edge of the pool of light cast by the flashlight Fraser could see Ray's fingers clenched in the fabric of his jeans, a crushing grip on his upper thigh.

"I'm sorry." Fraser said. "I have to cut this off."

Ray made a sound that could have been acquiescence. To hell with his boot. If only Fraser could do something to make his leg hurt less.

Fraser sliced through the leather of the boot carefully with his hunting knife, then cut open the leg of Ray's jeans. As delicately as he could, he felt for the break. It was hard to tell without causing excessive pain, but he suspected that both the tibia and fibula were broken a few inches above the ankle. It would be more comfortable if it were at least braced and supported. Fraser had a sudden thought, inspired by cutting off Ray's boots. The stiff leather of his own boots cut into strips and used in double layers would create at least something of a splint. His belt would do to hold it in place. He scrambled to take his boots off.

"Ray, I'm going to try to brace your leg and then elevate it, all right?" he said.

"Uh-huh." Ray said through clenched teeth. He wondered briefly exactly what Fraser was going to pull out of thin air to use for this purpose, but he found it difficult to concentrate.

"There." The task was finished, and now Fraser and Ray were both bootless. Ray's foot was elevated on the leftovers of their butchered boots, and his leg was encased in stiff leather.

Ray breathed through the pain, then found to his surprise that the splinting really did lessen the sickening heart-beat throb that had been driving him to distraction.

"I'm going to turn off the flashlight again." Fraser said. "Is there anything else you need?"

"A way out?" Ray snapped, then silently cursed himself.

"Sorry, Frase. It just hurts." he amended.

"You sound a little cold." Fraser said. He took off his uniform tunic and draped it over Ray's upper body.

"That's good, Frase, thanks." Ray said. He wasn't too proud to accept the warmth. He didn't feel like he was generating any of his own.

Fraser turned off the flashlight and leaned back against the wall, next to Ray. He allowed himself to move closer to Ray, sharing body warmth.

"Just so, I dunno, cold. And dark. Kind of depressing." Ray said. He knew he sounded pathetic. But Fraser had seen his record, had known about his commendations, considered him courageous. So it was all right, now, wasn't it, to let Fraser see that he wasn't doing so well? Fraser wouldn't think he was chicken, not really.

"It isn't the most pleasant place I've spent a night." Fraser said. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was trapped in a cave with a hibernating bear while trying to avoid a jealous bull-moose who mistook me for competition for his mate?"

"Not yet, ya didn't, Frase." Ray said. Fraser's usual safe nonsense. He was getting used to it, this patter from his partner. Sometimes there was a message under it, sometimes it was camouflage, sometimes it was just passing the time. Right now, that was quite welcome.

Fraser's tall tale kept them occupied for a while. It took Ray's mind off his leg, and he even managed to interject at the appropriate moments to question the veracity of some of the arctic antics. But even Fraser's powers of recall or invention ran out after a while, and silence fell again.

"Hey, Frase. Why did the chicken cross the road?" Ray said. He didn't know what brought the joke to mind. Or maybe he did.

"Why, Ray?" Fraser's voice came, bemused, in the dark.

"To die, alone, in the rain."

Ray felt the puzzlement that cloaked Fraser like a tangible mist.

"Ray, that's not how I recall the joke going. Not that it ever made much sense. Chickens, in my experience, don't act from motives effable to human comprehension."

"It's kind of... a joke about a joke, Frase. I heard it somewhere. Like, how Ernest Hemingway would tell the chicken joke."

"Ah." Fraser said. "That's quite clever. Hemingway."

"AP English, Benton Buddy. I'm just full of surprises."

"Yes, indeed, Ray." Fraser said. But his voice still sounded puzzled. "What made you think of that joke?"

"Fraser. We're at the bottom of a storage tank. I got a badly broken leg. You got no rope. We either starve to death here or Charlie's cousin comes back and does us. I never - I mean, I just don't want to die here like this."

Ray's voice diminished to nothing as he admitted his fear.

"Ray." Fraser said firmly, in the voice he used to address small children and little old ladies who needed reassuring, and Diefenbaker when he was being intransigent. "We are not going to die here. We will find a way out. Perhaps our colleagues are already searching for us."

Ray snorted, half-laugh, half-sniffle. Of course. He needn't have worried about showing his ass to Fraser. Fraser was going to determinedly ignore the display of emotions and go about the business of being condescending and correct. He really was going to die _alone_.

When Ray didn't reply, or speak again, Fraser started to fret. Not that he'd admit the possibility of such an activity.

"Ray. Ray. Ray." he said, trying to ascertain that his partner was still conscious.

"What, Fraser?" came the flat reply.

Still conscious, then. And - angry?

"Did I say something wrong, Ray?" Fraser asked.

His voice sounded uncertain. Ray relented.

"Nah. Just remember, I'm a cop, not a civilian. I don't need your cheer-up-everything'll-be-fine speech."

Fraser blushed deep red, thankful for the dark that hid him.

"Oh." he said. "My apologies, Ray. I - I was just trying- but I see..."

Ray chuckled, the sound shaky and weak.

"I know. But I don't need that. We're partners. I just need ya to be real with me."

Fraser was on the point of protesting that with him, what you saw was what you got. But that wasn't as true as it could have been. He didn't consciously trade on being invisible in a bright red suit, but he was good at it.

Fraser didn't know what to say that Ray would find real. In the darkness, everything seemed terribly real. After some minutes of silence, Ray picked up the conversational ball again. Fraser found himself considering almost clinically if Ray was intentionally disclosing a weakness to him as a prompt to get him to be 'real', or if Ray wasn't aware of the psychological trade he was offering.

"You know, sometimes, I just wonder about-" Ray started, and paused. "I gotta wonder. You know how they say in the course of their career, most cops don't even unholster their weapon. Let alone shoot. Let alone get shot at. You know, me, you read the file. I got shot at a few times. And sometimes-"

Fraser could practically hear the shrug.

"Sometimes I gotta wonder if it's just me." Ray laughed, a sound that wasn't quite flippant, and spoke on in a too-casual rush. "Now you, you don't carry at all. Why is that, buddy?"

Fraser considered the coin he was being asked to spend to provide Ray with the comfort he needed, now, here, in the dark and alone, waiting for whatever would come. He chose to speak.

"At first, I was in a hurry to be here, to find my father's killer, and I didn't have a permit, so I didn't load my gun." Fraser paused. "But of course, I did know I could get the right permits if I asked."

"But you didn't ask."

"No. What you said earlier about most officers never discharging their weapons. I know it's true in Chicago just as in the North West Territories. But back home, I never did have reason, really, to need to discharge my weapon. Except perhaps in case of bear attack. Chicago is ... very different from where I grew up. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to carry a weapon."

"But the bad guys carry, so it's just putting us on an equal footing. I mean, you can shoot, right?"

"Quite adequately." Fraser replied, and Ray assumed that meant "you bet your sweet ass."

"So we get out of here, we go get your paperwork sorted out." Ray said.

Fraser swallowed. Loudly, it seemed, in the quiet of the tank.

"Unless there's some other reason." Ray prodded. Ray knew he was being cruel, in his own fashion. He couldn't seem to stop it.

"Ray." Fraser said. He could hear the reproval in his own voice, and softened it. "Ray."

"Yeah?"

Fraser took a deep breath and leaned into Ray.

"I-" Was it so hard to articulate what he felt? It seemed to strip him naked.

"Ray, I don't know." he blurted out, all of a piece. "I could- I could tell you very convincing things. Things I could believe of myself, too." Fraser's hand move to his face, even in the dark, making the nervous, soothing motions that came to him when he didn't know quite what to say.

"You know, there was one occasion upon which Ray offered me his gun to shoot my father's killer, in 'self defense.'"

Ray shuddered. Vecchio was one cold bastard, walking a fine line as to which side of the law he was on.

"He misunderstood me. He didn't grasp why I didn't want to take revenge in that way. But there were other cases, other times, when I would have - I certainly could have- when Ray or his family were threatened."

Ray emitted a sound from his throat, an approval, an understanding. You did what you had to do. But he could also understand how that willingness to do violence unsettled the tightly reigned in Fraser.

"So that's why-"

"No." The syllable was filled with misery. "Well, not really. It's a good reason, isn't it?"

"But-" Ray's incomprehension was clear.

"But you demanded that I be real, Ray." Fraser said. He sounded far more tired than reproving, now. "And the truth is that I know that I am - I am unwilling to carry a loaded weapon here in Chicago. But the lawless fierceness with which I would defend my own- the many hostages to fortune I have here, compared to back home - I cannot tell you why, but I know that isn't the only reason."

"It's not a bad reason." Ray said.

"And it's not totally untrue." Fraser said, pausing again to try to find the right words to express how truly disconcerted he was by his own convoluted interior landscape. "It does scare me to think how easily I could take a life, if I were pushed to it. But I know, as much as a man may know himself, that I cannot find one tidy explanation for my stubborn refusal. Something else - there is something I just don't know."

Stripped bare. His rationality, his ability to see cause and effect, deduce things logically and plainly, and somewhere there was something in him that howled and shivered when he tried to understand the cause, the driving motive that kept him from being the fully armed partner he knew Ray would prefer to have.

"Fuck." Ray whispered. He'd asked for real, and he'd got it. He'd shown Fraser his own fears and confusions, and found out that his perfectly polished partner, the man with a slick line in deflections, had a gaping hole in his defenses just the same.

"Indeed." Fraser said, not without humor.

---

A shot rang out a long time ago, a caribou fell, bleeding out. But that was not it, that was not it at all. A snow field. His father's killer, Benton's own hand shaking as he held a gun, prepared in that moment to take his righteous vengeance. There were reasons, any one of them should be good enough to close the book on the question. Not this slippery illogic that skipped and slithered away from conscious examination, not identifiable as dread alone, or pride, or any one emotion that could be named and filed neatly under the system by which he organized his life, and the plain, sensible choices he made.

Fraser said nothing more, there was nothing he could add.

Ray bumped his shoulder against Fraser's. "Hey, no big deal anyway, so long as I got my glasses." he said.

Fraser grasped at the offered straw. This new Ray was so good at that, twisting and turning to conversation from unstable ground to rock solid foundations of good humor and then pitching it back over the edge of the cliff. It was hard to keep up with sometimes, but he was happy for it now.

"The glasses without which you can't hit the broad side of a barn?" he bantered back, relief clear in his voice at moving away from the topic of his unreliable psyche.

"Yeah, right. But with them on, boom, pow!" Ray said. His voice carried all the strain of the terrible pain from his leg, under the deliberate lightness.

---

Again there was silence for some time, awkward silence as each man worked to maintain defenses long in place. Ray was fighting against unbeatable odds. It was only a matter of time before the cry of pain that was choking him forced its way up past his tightly clenched teeth. He wished he had left Fraser alone, let him be the unassailable superman he pretended to be. God knew, one of them had to be, and it wasn't him now, like this. Not all the moisture running down his face was sweat. The salt of tears ran down his nose and dripped onto his dry lips. He'd never gone this long between getting broke up this bad and getting a shot of something to take the edge off. But like hell he was going to add to the Mountie's burden now by letting on how bad it was getting.

Not that Ray had to say anything. Fraser's share of the silence was marked with his own shame and helplessness at not being able to do anything about the agony that was making his partner shake. Leaning in to offer warmth and support, Fraser was almost certain that Ray was unaware of the tremors that ran through his body. He was trying so hard, Fraser knew, trying to tough it out. Ray had the guts to admit his fears about dying in the dark, and he needed something that Fraser would have to find for him.

Ray had asked for truth, but what he needed was hope. Fraser had to find the words to give Ray something in this darkness. Not the glib promises that had so offended Ray earlier.

"Ray?"

"Yeah?" The cry of pain came out with the word, choked off, bitten back, refused.

"I want you to know something." Fraser's voice was quiet, but it rang true in the silence of the deep tank. "When I spoke before of a lawlessness, a violence in me that would protect those I care for...." Fraser paused. Why _was_ it so hard for a man to say what he had to say? "I want you to know that you are among those whom I would protect."

Ray made a soft noise that Fraser could not interpret.

"When light comes, if the men come back for us," Fraser continued, "I know you'll be stuck waiting down here, but I will find a way to stop them."

Ray believed him. There was no logical reason to think that the odds were any better than they had been all night. But the deepest instinct in Fraser was stirred to defend the two of them, and that was something formidable. Wong's cousin had no idea what he'd stepped in. Something in Ray uncurled, a warmth growing as he recognized that this was as close to the center of Fraser, the 'nature red in tooth and claw' that hid under that all that spit-polish, as he'd ever seen. The Fraser who would make that promise was the real man, the truest vision, beyond even the plague of self-doubts and fears that Fraser had unwillingly uncovered earlier, like bones on the forest floor buried under leaf rot.

Ray tried to convey some of this, but all he managed was another choked off moan, carrying a faint affirmative.

"Let me get you more comfortable." Fraser turned on the flashlight again, taking in the strained lines on Ray's face. He fussed with the ankle gently, elevating it more by wedging Ray's boots against each other. Ray didn't try to stop the tears that rolled down his face. Fraser shifted Ray to lie with his back across Fraser's lap, and wrapped him warmly once more with his tunic.

Getting the ankle higher than Ray's heart would help keep the swelling down, and he should have seen to it earlier, but Ray seemed to favor the autonomy of sitting upright, and Fraser hadn't wanted to take that from him. Fraser also had to face the fact that he wasn't quite comfortable draping his new partner across his legs this way. Both this new Ray and Vecchio alike might be generous with their physical gestures, but Fraser's people were not a hugging people. But there was no room for distaste or distance here. Ray settled his shoulders and head on Fraser's legs, and looked up, unselfconscious grace on his face. After the immediate trauma of moving his ankle was past, he did feel a great deal better like this.

"Thanks." Ray said. "Frase. I do believe you. You're gonna get us out of this."

Fraser nodded. "I promise. Everything I can do."

He switched the flashlight off, and with the darkness to cover his discomposure at the intimacy, found himself stroking Ray's arm with a rhythmic, soothing motion.

"S'nice, Frase. Real nice." Ray said, sounding as tired as he had a right to be. "Tell me a story?"

"Ah." Fraser said. "Well, about the time that I was in the cave with the bear after the incident with the moose, there was another event that might interest you, at the local iqaluttalik, that is, fish pond, where I and another boy..."

This story lasted until Fraser could sense Ray's breathing easing out to something slow and sleepy. He kept up the gentle touch, determined that his partner would have no reason to stir from his needed rest. His mind raced with decisions and implications and angles. When the men came back, it would be he alone against however many Wong's cousin brought. He made a promise to Ray, he just had no idea how he was going to keep it.

---

Morning broke in upon the tank with a lightening of the general gloom, and one great slant of light that beamed diagonally along the top of the wall and moved down with the progression of the sun's rising. After a fraction of the tank was lit up this way, Ray and Fraser's rest was disturbed further by the sound of a car arriving. Not long after that, a long metal ladder appeared at the top of the tank and was angled down until the rubber feet rested near where Fraser and Ray lay.

"I hope you've had a pleasant night, gentlemen."

The voice that drifted down was that of Charlie Wong's cousin. He continued speaking with the same half-bored intonation of the night before.

"Constable Fraser, Detective Vecchio. Please climb up at once, or I shall be forced to begin shooting. It would be difficult to miss you under the circumstances."

"Looks like you're on." Ray said hoarsely as Fraser eased himself out from under Ray's shoulders. He settled Ray as gently as possible. Ray slipped his arms out from Fraser's tunic and handed it to him. The Mountie buttoned it on like it was plate armor, his posture growing surer as the brass buttons fastened the red about his chest.

"Detective Vecchio is unwell." Fraser called up. He didn't want to give away too much information. He and Ray were already at a disadvantage. Fraser only hoped that Wong's cousin wouldn't react to his statement by shooting Ray immediately. He stood so that his body was as much between Ray and where the men above them must be standing, just in case.

"All right, Constable. You may come up alone for the moment. Do not delay any further." the imperious voice ordered. There was no hint of mercy in it.

Fraser's legs felt unsteady from being motionless too long and supporting Ray's weight. Pins and needles flooded them as he moved toward the ladder. The climb would be hard. The burden he carried was heavy. But he would not fail Ray. Fraser grasped a rung of the ladder and started upwards to whatever waited.

End

**Author's Note: This one's for Hanson's Angel, who wanted Ray K. hurt, (what a meanie!) and Fraser opening up emotionally. Fraser's like a Chinese puzzle box, so this is as open as I could get him without knowing where to push. Thanks to Vic32 as usual for reading and encouraging. Nope, there really isn't anything more. Either you and Ray trust Fraser to get them out, or not.  
**


End file.
